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“No,” she says, coloring a little more – probably at the fact that her own response was so immediate. “You shouldn’t have done that. You should never do that.”
I laugh out loud, slipping my arm around her waist and pulling her close to kiss her forehead. “Noted.”
“What did you think of it?” she asks.
“The college?” I ask, a little surprised that she would want my opinion.
“Yeah,” she says. “You’ve already been through this whole process. You know more about it than I would.”
“Well, I’m obviously biased, but I think yesterday’s facilities were better,” I say. “And the teaching staff are still second to none.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “That’s what I’ve seen in all the league tables.”
I pause to hail a cab, sticking my arm out as the iconic black vehicle cruises to a stop beside us. “Anyway, get in,” I say. “We’ve got something else to enjoy today.”
“As if I’d forget,” she replies, giving me a cheeky grin before sliding into the back seat. I follow her and give the driver the name of a small side street I want him to take us to, then sit back.
“Where are we going, anyway?” Gabby asks.
“It’s a surprise,” I say, taking her hand in mine and kissing it. I let them fall back onto the seat between us, still entwined.
“What kind of surprise?” she asks, tilting her head like she’s not going to give up until I tell her. “We’re on the way now, right? So, it’s still a surprise if you tell me now.”
I can’t help but laugh and shake my head at her tenacity. “We’re going shopping. That’s all I’m saying.”
She cranes her head forward, staring at the live map on the dashboard that shows us where we are. “Hmm, but where? Oxford Street isn’t nearby to where we’re going.”
“There are more places in London to go shopping than Oxford Street,” I laugh.
And then I watch her. I watch how she looks out of the window, craning her head for any hint of where we’re headed. She’s like an excited child, but not in a bad way – in the most adorable, cute way. And I see how her gaze changes, how her jaw drops as we start to move closer to our destination.
We drive past huge outlet stores and flagships for some of the biggest brands in the world. Huge designer names with big price tags attached. I know she must recognize them from the way her expression shifts, into awe and wonder. I can see, also, a little bit of nervousness. She still worries that I’m spending too much money on her, doesn’t she?
It’s amazing, really. For me to find someone like this. When everyone else is concerned about making me spend as much on them as possible, she wants me to spend as little as possible. And that just makes me want to spoil her even more.
The cab turns down a side street and stops, pulling up against the curb. I lean over to pay him, tapping my card against a reader in the central console, and then rush around to open Gabby’s door for her. Typically, she’s already opened it and is getting out, but I can at least offer my hand in steadying her while she stands.
“This is where we’re going?” she asks, raising her eyes to take in the small building in front of us. It doesn’t look like much, especially after the big, flashy stores we’ve just driven past. Some of them are so popular, they had lines out the doors of people waiting for their turn to get in. But this place is quiet and understated. It doesn’t even have a doorman.
It doesn’t need one – because the only people who know it exists are the people who can afford to come here. It’s one of the best kept secrets in London, and I can’t wait to share it with her.
“Follow me,” I say, holding out my hand. She takes it, and we walk in through the doors together, into a white space characterized by a few plush chairs, a couple of racks of clothing, and a door that I know from experience leads into a very nice changing room.
“Hello, Mr. Patterson.” The stylist emerges as if from nowhere, materializing with a professional smile and a nod in Gabby’s direction. “And this must be your guest. Gabby, is it?”
“Yes,” Gabby says, sounding astounded. “Hi.”
I chuckle, stepping forward and letting go of Gabby’s hand so I can sit down in one of the chairs. “She’s all yours, Millie,” I say. “Work your magic.”
“What?” Gabby says, looking from me to Millie and back again with a little shell-shocked confusion.
“Allow me to explain,” Millie says smoothly, giving me a knowing look. “I’m sure Mr. Patterson wanted to keep the surprise for the last minute, am I right? Well, I’m a personal stylist. And I’ve been hired to provide you with the finest capsule wardrobe that money can buy.”
